


The Demons You Fear Mean Nothing To Us

by CriedMore



Category: Black Veil Brides, Fable 2 (Video Game), Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Video Game World, Bridecest, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-04-27 22:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14435844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CriedMore/pseuds/CriedMore
Summary: The country of Albion is facing it's most dangerous threat yet - but to the average citizens, that threat is not the creeping darkness encroaching on it's shores: but the actions of the new monarch. Most of them are helpless but to watch his actions...some, though, are not: and they are willing to fight against the tyranny they thought they had been freed from. And they're not alone.I don't really know what this is, or where it's going. I'm writing this for me, because I obviously like Black Veil Brides, and this is one of my favourite games ever: and there have been rumours of a new instalment, which have made me really excited. I don't expect anyone to read this, but if anyone thinks it sounds interesting, please give it a go. I'd be interested in what people have to say.You do not need to have played any of the Fable games, or listen to Black Veil Brides, to understand this story.Just saying.





	1. Prologue

_“On this day, 21st of December, in the year of our Lord 1758, one year after his daring escape from the Royal Castle: the former Crown Prince Hawk and Hero of Brightwall was officially coronated as the new King of Albion, a month after deposing his older brother, the tyrant, Logan. Though our new monarch speaks of the hard times ahead, this newspaper believes that things can only get better for the people of Albion. The future is bright. The future is given to us by the Hero of Brightwall.”_

 

All over Albion, people gathered on street corners to hear those few who could read announce the news that the Hero of Brightwall, second son of the sometimes beloved, sometimes detested Hero of Bowerstone. They listened attentively to the knowledge being shared: waited with baited breath for the rest of the story.

From the day of his escape, the former Crown Prince had warned anyone and everyone that Albion was under dire threat. And when he returned from the strange, desert land of Aurora, he had given name to that threat.

The Crawler.

But there was nothing in the newspaper about the nightmarish creature that wanted to spread its reign of impenetrable darkness over Albion. Neither the new King, or any of his advisors, or even the writer of the article made any reference to the monster that threatened to doom them all to an eternity of pain and suffering in a never ending dark. It was as if the new King had forgotten all about the Crawler, and with it his promises to defend Albion from the beast. Instead he warned them of tough times ahead...and the sacrifices they would all have to make to get through them.

He sounded like his brother.

Even left unsaid, it was a common opinion that maybe the new King was not the glowing future the newspaper, the revolutionaries, or the renegade soldiers led by Ben Finn, had promised. But with men like Reaver, the most ruthless being (for he was no man, after all) in Albion by his side, and his lover Page quashing any talk of a second revolt, and the army fully supporting the monarch, there was no hope of removing him from the throne.

Despite the miserable three months they had already lived through, the Hero of Brightwall was the king. He would remain king, until he died - be that by the Crawler’s deeds, or of old age like the previous Queen: his mother, the Hero of Bowerstone. Nobody seemed to know what was worse.

They only knew that it wouldn’t end well.

For **anyone**.


	2. And, So, The Story Begins

_**\- Andrew -** _

             

"Andrew, darling, please straighten your jacket. If we manage to impress Reaver, our lives will be vastly improved." my mother chided, fussing with her skirts as we sat in the carriage to Millfields. Though I already knew that this meeting would go well, I did as she asked; not willing to have the argument that I would otherwise have to have.

             

I couldn't very well show up bearing the mark of my mother's hand on my cheek. That would shame the both of us, no matter how inevitable it was whenever my ways of  _knowing_  things was brought up. While my parents were all too happy to use my abilities to their advantage, with my mother's sharp business acumen having caught the talent immediately, and learning to sell it in a matter of months, it was never discussed. Once, while drunk, my mother's father had let slip that it was because my abilities were from the devil: just like those of the bitch Queen, the Hero of Bowerstone: may god rot her soul. When my father had overheard the conversation, he'd told me not to put any stock in my grandfather's ramblings - but although I was ' _cursed_ ', which had been his exact wording, ' _that was no reason for the family not to benefit_ '. So I did as my mother asked of me, knowing that it was for the good of her, my father, and my younger siblings. That was my duty.

That was the best I could ask for.

Still, while my siblings flinched at the way our parents treated me, I knew it wasn't too bad. I was never hungry, my rooms at home were comfortable and stocked with all the books, paper, and ink I could ever want, and I was only ever given the finest clothes to wear: especially on days like today, when we were on our way to meet powerful potential clients. Reaver Industries owned almost all of the factories in Bowerstone Industrial, and the owner was an infamously shrewd businessman who liked (and often made sure he had) every possible edge when it came to business. Reaver was a bastard, but a rich one, and one I had already foreseen myself standing beside. The details were blurry, yes, but my visions were rarely crystal clear - especially when they featured anyone I was close to, which I assumed explained the other figures in the vision, the ones that had been shrouded in shadow. Despite the faint sound of screams that had accompanied my latest prophetic dream, I didn't let the mater concern me as we finally drove through the gates of Reaver's Millfields mansion.

As far as I could tell, I lived. The people I assumed I cared about lived. We all seemed hearty and hale, even. What else was there to give a damn about, really? Nothing. So long as my family and I survived, there was nothing else to care about.

It meant I remained unaffected by the clang of the gates locking behind us, that I wasn't moved by the grand entrance to the mansion, and that even when I was staring into blank, unreadable brown eyes: I had no urge to duck my head the way my father did, or turn away like my mother. I wasn't afraid of Reaver. The future was what it was - or would be whatever it would be. There was no point in fussing. Even when my lack of deference earned a raised eyebrow from the most hated man in Albion.

   

"I never knew arrogance was something inherent to those who could predict the future."

"I suppose it's because I know how things are going to end. It does instil a certain amount of confidence."

     

Both my parents hissed in a horrified gasp - but Reaver just threw his head back and laughed.

Even I hadn't been expecting that  _(I didn't know how Reaver and I ended up with a working business deal, after all, only that we got there eventually)_ , but I didn't let anything other than indifference show on my face. Reaver may have been  _temporarily_ charmed by my bluntness, maybe, but he was still a wolf - and not even a wolf in sheep's clothing, he was just a wolf: with cold, ever-watching eyes, and sharp teeth ready to snap closed as soon as his prey made a mistake. I wouldn't be stupid enough to slip up this early. I couldn't; not if I wanted to come out of this meeting alive.

We didn't wait to be told to follow Reaver through a doorway on the right, into a grand study. Mahogany bookshelves lined the walls: broken up by green velvet wallpaper and large, gold-framed oil paintings. Gas lamps were lit to chase away the gloom of the rainy day outside, making the plush padding on the chairs around the ornate desk seem even more inviting. Still, we did wait to be invited to sit down, both my parents accepting Reaver's offer of a glass of whiskey, while I politely shook my head.

There was an obvious quip about my youthful look, as if Reaver himself didn't look far out of his late teens, before we settled down to start the consultation.

       

"As a formality, I would like to make you all aware that I have dealt with people with the Sight before. With varying levels of actual ability, leading to varying unpleasant outcomes." a sharp, far-from-friendly smile: "If there is anything you would like to confess, I suggest you do so before I invest in this situation."

"I can assure you," my mother responded: "my son's talents are entirely genuine."

Reaver merely smirked: "I'm sure. Because if they're not, I cannot stress how much you are all going to suffer - including the rest of your family - for your lies."

         

My parents went back-and-forth on the details of this transaction, while I kept my mouth shut and waited to be asked to have any input. There was no point interrupting my mother, not when she was conducting business. It would only raise her ire, and I really didn't want to do that. Instead I focused on Reaver: the shoulder-length black hair that was styled in soft looking layers around his face, the high cheekbones under tanned skin, and dark brown eyes glinting with intelligence - but no emotion. His eyes were completely cold, but utterly focused on whichever one of my parents was talking in a way that was very unsettling.

I got the feeling that, even if this meeting went well, we may have to watch our backs for a little while. The future may be peaceful, but I didn't know how long it would take to reach that point. And things could always change. It had happened before...and I didn't want it to happen again.

 

"Well then, time to get started then." Reaver finally announced, clapping his hands and rubbing his palms together in anticipation: "Just the lad and I for this, I think. Please, do make yourselves comfortable in the parlour, Mr and Mrs Biersack. This won't take long."  
  
I was unsurprised when my parents left without argument, so I didn't bat an eyelash when the door shut behind them: "What about your future would you like to know?"  
  
"Nothing. It's somebody  _else's_ future I need to learn of."  
  
"Without a person, or a highly personal item of theirs, being present: I won't be able to see anything here."  
  
Reaver had apparently already known that, since before I was finished speaking he had already set an old,  _old_  looking crossbow on his desk: "Their first crossbow. They always were so sentimental about those things."

_They'd have to be; crossbows were so outdated nobody used them anymore, unless it was for historical reconstructions_ : but I pushed the thoughts aside, calmly laying my hand on the crossbow instead of commenting. I was expecting the wood to feel cold and fragile, but despite its obvious age. The wood was warm, and it...it felt as if there was some kind of pulse, not one I could feel under my palm, but one that was there all the same. It was like the antique weapon was  _alive_  somehow, as if it shared its owners life force, which made it far from shocking when I was dragged into a vision.  
     
  
    
_A pitch black galleon sailing into a port I didn't recognise, one filled with pirates and prostitutes waiting for the small navy of ships following the galleon into the docks._  
  
_Wild blonde hair in a mass of braids and tangled curls, strange glowing blue tattoos, and battered black leather armour._  
  
_Swords cutting through figures made of darkness,_ crossbowbolts  _singing through the air to hit their dark targets, followed by feral laughter and a triumphant smile on a face I couldn't quite make out._  
     
  
    
Pulling myself out of the vision, I managed to escape seeing anything else...but not the sense of foreboding that had sunk into my bones, or the knowledge that  _something_  was coming. And  _someone_.

I couldn't get a grasp on which one was worse.

Not that I told Reaver that. I left out the entire sense of impending danger, focusing purely on the parts of the vision I thought might be relevant to him. The black ship sailing into a foreign port, the blonde warrior woman on the deck of that ship, and the violent carnage that she seemed to be in the middle of. And unlike my sense of foreboding around the images, Reaver seemed  _pleased_ by what I had seen.

           

And he was also done with me: "My servant will give you the amount of gold we agreed upon. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

_...This isn't the end of this._


	3. I've Been Here Through The Ages

_**\- Reaver -** _

 

Bloodstone was exactly how I'd left it...except, of course, for the signs of the new(ish) Queen. The ragged black banners hanging throughout the streets, emblazoned with a golden symbol I knew all too well: a bird in mid-flight, carrying a crown in its talons. Because as brilliant as the Pirate Queen of Bloodstone was, she had never bothered to pussyfoot around when there were other more important things to do. Such as setting sail and committing piracy to her little black heart's content.

She was a woman after my own cold, dead heart.

I mean, yes, I had planned to betray her before she ever set foot in what had, at the time, been my city - and I blamed her for the man I'd tried to betray her too turning on me and almost killing the both of us.

 _And_ shortly after there was the second time she'd almost gotten me killed, when her mentor had turned on her and, in turn both and the mage.

 _And then_  she'd moved into my home while I was abroad, travelling, and stolen my ship: so that she could also take my title as the ruler of Pirates.

 _And, yes,_ in the fifty years since we'd shot each other, stabbed each other, openly slept with other people  _(not including our poor, long-suffering third regular partner: who refused to get sucked into our 'games', as he called them)_ , amongst all manner of insults, name-calling, and fights. 

So...yes, a woman well and truly suited to me. I didn't blame her for taking over Bloodstone - I had left it to the vultures, and though Sparrow was no scavenger, she was willing to pick the bones: until there was very little of my presence left, and what was left was made almost purely in her image. Because that was what she did when offered an opportunity: she thrived no matter what her circumstance. It was one of the many ways we were similar.

Another was the fact we both had spectacular aim.

Which was why when a crossbow bolt flew past my ear, I knew the near-miss was far from accidental. If Sparrow wanted me dead, I would be...at least in a lot of pain. The small flirtation brought a smile to my face, as the midnight black ship with the black and gold sails sailed into port: and battered, thigh high black leather boots hit the blood-slicked docks just a second after the gangplank.

 

"Another decade, and still the same shoes? Sparrow, my dear, you disappoint me."

"I kicked your sorry behind in them so many times, I guessed I just got attached." the blonde mocked, before pulling me down for a snarling kiss. Our teeth clicked as I gave as good as I got: battling for dominance while holding each other as close as we could. It had been almost two years since we'd last seen each other, and though neither of us would say it aloud, we had missed each other greatly: "How come you're back here, Reaver? You don't normally show your face in Bloodstone anymore."  
      
"Maybe I came to reclaim my throne." I smirked, keeping my arms wrapped lightly around Sparrow's waist - giving her enough space to lean back to look me in the eyes, but not quite wanting to not let her go just yet: "Maybe it's time for the Pirate King to retake his crown."  
  
Sparrow merely snorted: "Hmm. I think you know better than to think you can best me."  
  
I merely grinned: "I know nothing. You'll have to teach me a lesson."  
  
"You wish." Sparrow rolled her eyes, while a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Maybe once you've told me why you're  _really_  here."

I sighed: "Back at the mansion, my love. Alone."

 

Sparrow frowned...but she nodded, and allowed me to tuck my arms through hers, and walk her back to the mansion I had once called my own. Not that Sparrow would ever be convinced to return it to me.

I had, after all, taught her well.

Well enough that she wouldn't take well to being asked to stop her piratical ways, and take up her 'helper' role again. I wouldn't ask her in front of her crew - to argue the point with her in front of them would call her position into question, and I wouldn't do that to her...not without pushing her to do something drastic. Sparrow had always been brilliantly stubborn, but now she knew she was valued as more than just a goody-two-shoes, by more than what she could give to others, and if she didn't want to do something...I wasn't certain I'd ever convince her to take up the 'good fight' once more.

 _Here_ was where it got difficult.

Sparrow's days of being 'the good guy' were well and truly long past. She detested the mere idea of being portrayed as a good person anymore, had renounced all claim to it: shot anyone who brought up her past good deeds straight between the eyes. She far preferred her life as a pirate to her life as part of the group that had saved of Albion. That life had gotten her nowhere: by the time her quest had been over, she was in and out of poverty, run off her feet from the constant demands for aid, and mourning the sacrifice of her only friend: who she had lost in order to resurrect those Albion had lost.

When I found her collapsed in a gutter: staring up at the stars above Bloodstone, the only town in Albion where the townsfolk were indifferent to her, even I couldn't have left her. She hadn't eaten in months, surviving off of healing potions that kept her alive, but offered her no nourishment: leaving her bones had been pressing against her skin in a grotesque parody of a skeleton: she had been blinded in one eye: and she wasn't able to sleep for nightmares anymore.

Even if I was a heartless bastard, I couldn't leave her like that. I may not have loved her then - I would have shot her to put her out of her misery, if I knew it would've have killed her, but it wouldn't have, and so I did what I had thought I would never attempt to do again...the right thing. I had picked her up and took her back across the seas with me to our mutual friend: the mage, Jinxx, the man that would become the third equal in our relationship.

He healed her physically. Then he helped heal her emotionally. And then  _I_  made sure she would never end up alone in a gutter again.

Much to everyone's ( _Jinxx's_ ) disgust, I'd taught her how to harden her heart to the pleas of the pathetic masses of Albion. I showed her how to make far more gold than she ever had through her honest means.  She knew how to fight, and how to cheat, and how to threaten: but I helped her perfect all those skills, and somehow, I had never known how, exactly, we had all fallen into our relationship. It hadn't been love. But it had been close enough for three people who didn't feel like love was something they would ever have.

Of course, that had changed. The love had come with time - and even when we went our separate ways, we had never lost track of each other, even fore a few weeks.

I knew all about Sparrow becoming the most dominant pirate in Albion. Of her taking over the islands off the coast of Albion, and creating a base in the crumbling Witchwood Arena, beyond the reach of Albion's law enforcement. Of daring exploit after daring exploit: her single-handedly defeating a Kraken, appointing a trio of White Balverine brothers as captains of her ships, and even the tale of her seducing a Siren. None of which she'd denied when I reached out to her.

In the end, it was I who had cut off contact, from both her and Jinxx. Neither had pushed, although I had sometimes felt their presence, just briefly, as if they were checking in on me, but I had never responded...which meant the difficulty I was about to experience was completely of my own making.

 

"You're not going to like what I have to ask you." I told her without preamble.

"The fact you met me in Bloodstone, a place you haven't been in decades, despite coming within a few miles of it every year, made that pretty obvious. Especially since I've noticed you purposefully timing your visits to avoid me." Sparrow shrugged, body language far too calm for her to actually be so: "So, tell me, Reaver...what is it?"

"Albion needs you."

 

Silence settled over my old home, Sparrow looking at me with eyes that had iced-over from denial.

 

"Leave."

"Sparrow - "

"No. Get out,  _Ashley_. You have  _no_ right." she spat, her voice shaking under the veneer of rage: her attempt at using my true name to cause me pain not going unnoticed...or unfelt: "And don't you fucking dare come back."

 

Without even waiting for me to leave the study, Sparrow barged past me: storming out of the house and back down towards the dock. One of the Balverine brother captains, the skinny middle child who's name I had never bothered to learn, looked at me with an arched eyebrow when I tried to follow her: shaking his head at me.

So I swallowed my pain, and the urge to force Sparrow to talk to me, and turned to him:

 

"Tell her I apologise?"

"Not a chance." the skinny little runt shrugged: "I am  _never_ bringing this up with her - she's far scarier than you are."

That was...fair. But I wasn't going to let that stand in the way of my goal: "If you want to live, if she wants to live, you might have to. A threat is coming, and the new monarch will not be able to stop it. Albion needs Sparrow - and, more importantly,  _we_ need her."

"...I'll see what I can do."


	4. A Shot To A New World Order

**_\- Christian -_ **  
  
  


I watched the elders gather around Sabine's throne, all of them muttering about how the new king had betrayed them. How he expected us to risk our lives for his cause, but was going to allow Reaver to destroy our home, despite his promise to protect Mistpeak and our camp within it.

But instead of allowing us to live peacefully, he was allowing Reaver to evict people from their land for a second time. My grandmother had told us all the story of how the so-called 'industrialist' had bought the land in Millfields from under them  _(land that they had lived on for hundreds of years)_  and evicted them from it, driving us into these cold-ass mountains. And now he was going to destroy these too?  
  
  


"You cannot stand for this, Sabine!" one of the elders snapped, waving his staff around dramatically: "We were promised security! Safety! Freedom to live as we will in our forests!"

Sabine wasn't cowed, though: "I know that, Stone! And I have warned the new King that if he continues down this path, he will deal with the same anger as his brother. But with the leader of the revolutionaries...we will struggle to launch another rebellion."

"Be that as it may," my grandmother grunted: "Reaver has taken my home from me once. He cannot be allowed to take it from my children and grandchildren as well. You were elected to led us, Sabine. To look after our interests. So do so."

 

The threat was unspoken - but my grandmother was not a woman to be messed with. She rarely spoke of it herself, but to hear her friends tell it, she had been a close friend of the Hero of Bowerstone when the Hero had been just a girl - they had trained with crossbows and staffs together, until the Hero's mentor had separated the young woman from everyone else, to 'prepare' her for her 'quest'. In was one of my grandmother's greatest regrets that the girl she had once known had descended into madness, arguably because she had had no-one but shallow, untrustworthy courtiers, and uncaring advisers for company. The Hero of Bowerstone had ended up a monster, but the girl my grandmother had known had just been an orphan missing her older sister. For a while, she had been good.

Unlike her sons.

It appeared that the Hero of Brightwall was nothing like his mother. She had at least tried to stand against men like Reaver: men that thought only for themselves. She had opened schools, founded libraries, funded orphanages. She had fought for everyone: farmer to knight, ranger to lord. The new king fought only for his own kind. For himself and those in his court. So long as they survived the oncoming danger, who the hell cared about the rest of his people?

Without our home, we would be defenceless. Vulnerable. Unable to defend ourselves against the influence of the darkness. Because Sabine had told us what the king had shared with no-one else: the truth about the greatest threat to Albion yet.

 

_The Crawler._

 

The Crawler was a creature of darkness. Of evil. Legend told that it had tried to attack Albion once before, in the old times...just before the end of the old times. It had tried to enter this world through the magical rift caused by the infamous Spire: a monument built by Will users, to do unspeakably dangerous and vast amount of Will. In a desperate attempt to stop it, three of the old heroes, Sol, Blaze, and Stone, had attempted to seal the rift to stop the Crawler. They had succeeded in closing the rift, managing to destroy the Spire, the Old Kingdom, and themselves in the process...but apparently, they had only trapped the monster. On their trip to Aurora, the king and his general Walter had released the Crawler and all his beastly 'children'  _(humanoid servants made of shadow with demonic, razor sharp wings on their backs)_ : and now it was on its way to Albion.

It couldn't be reasoned with. It couldn't be killed with conventional weapons. And it couldn't be trapped again, at least not by the king's abilities.

Rumours told us that royal scouts had been sent to the village of Oakfield, to the Temple of Light: where one of the old Heroes resided. Hammer was a Hero of Strength: a woman who might be strong enough to hold the Crawler. Others were daring the treacherous waters around the isles of Archons Folly, home of another of the old Heroes: Jinxx, the Hero of Will: one of the few men who may be able to bespell the monster into submission. And, of course, Reaver: the old Hero of Skill, was ever present. If he could be bothered, he would be incredibly useful. The three of them had been one of the companions of the old Hero of Bowerstone, the ones who helped save Albion seventy years ago. But Sabine was doubtful even they could stop the Crawler.

 

"It's time we address the rumours, Sabine." my great aunt Stella ordered: "Only  _she_ can help us."

Sabine's face instantly hardened: "She's  _dead_. Dead and gone. Those rumours are nothing but useless ramblings from drunken fools who lived under her spell. There's nothing to address."

"Just because you feel she wronged your family does not give you the right to deny us our safety!" another elder snapped: "The leader of the camp has always known how to call for the old ones. Summon her here - protect us all!"  
  


There was a tense silence, in which we all remembered the stories of how Sabine's mother had lost her faith in the woman who was supposed to save her oldest daughter  _(Sabine's older sister, dead and gone before he was even born)_  and how that faithlessness in all heroes and seers had been spread to Sabine himself...but then, in the blink of an eye, Sabine had pulled a pistol from his belt: and shot the man who had spoken in the heart. The gunshot echoed throughout the caravans: shocking us all into silence while the elder bled out onto the snow.

Sabine watched us with cold eyes, pistol still raised and ready to fire, staring us all down: daring us to challenge him.  
  


"Even if we could call her," he started: voice frighteningly soft considering the violence we'd just seen: "There's no guarantee she would help us. We focus on the king and his methods. That is how we succeed."  
  


No-one dissented.

No-one  _dared_.

Violence was rare between us Dwellers. We were a close-knit community, we didn't fight. I could remember a few drunken arguments, but no Dweller had killed another Dweller in my lifetime...but Sabine had just shot one of the elders like it was nothing. It was...horrifying. I almost couldn't believe it.

But I knew it couldn't be stood for.

Sharing a look with my oldest sister, I knew that she felt the same way. Sabine wasn't the only one who knew how to summon the Heroes - that was knowledge that was shared with him, and the camp historian. Our grandmother. She was teaching her eldest daughter, my mother, everything she knew: and my mother was already teaching Artemis: the oldest of her daughters. Artemis might not be supposed to know how to get in contact with the Hero, but she did. And if it would help our people survive the Crawler's attack? The rules be damned: we would go and find whoever the hell we needed to to make sure that happened.

I took my father's second-best rifle, and my staff. My youngest sister, Emily, handed me a satchel with food and drink in it, and Artemis gave me the box with everything I needed to summon the Hero. Then I took off into the night.

The snow crunched under my feet as I fled the Dweller Camp: covered only by the sound of my heart in my ears, the breath leaving my lungs, and the occasional howl of a wolf in the distance. I didn't stop even for a second: not when the howls sounded as if they were getting closer, not even when I thought I saw a slender shadow running alongside me, not even when an unearthly purple glow lit up the trees behind me, and the howls turned into playful yipping sounds: more akin to Sabine's old hound than the wolves. I didn't even slow when I passed the sign for Brightwall, knowing that the nearest town to the Dweller Camp would be the first place that they would look for me when they realised that I was gone.

No, I needed to keep going until I reached Bowerstone. The people of the capital city would never notice one more skinny face in the crowds, no matter how hard they were pressed to. Or, at least, that was my hope.

Even if it seemed impossible  _(and considering that I didn't really have a plan as of yet, it wasn't exactly seeming like a walk in the park)_  I had to succeed in this. There was no other avenue open to me. I couldn't let anyone - not the King, not Sabine, not  _anyone_ \- put my family in danger.

 

_I won't let them down._

 

I couldn't.


End file.
